House Of Cards
by Ohsweeeet
Summary: He needed to build himself back up; after the war Draco Malfoy needs to pull himself back together. There wasn't much he remembered about himself, he wasn't much to begin with and yet, he knew he needed to build himself for her; Hermione. HG/DM.
1. Prologue: Summer

**House of cards. **

SUMMER.

-

-

Staring at her felt like such a crime. But it was interesting to watch her. Hermione Jean Granger was strong, determined and full of intelligence. It was sickening to be beaten by her, a girl nonetheless, in every subject. It was sickening to watch her laugh with her friend—and watch as she would dance with Ron Weasley or Harry Potter. It was sickening that he was jealous of a lot in her life; her friends, her family, and her happiness. But that didn't stop him from staring. It was simply, easy.

It was so easy to sit there and watch her move. Swiftly, with such grace that motivated him to just keep watching.

It was summertime; Hogwarts had come to a pause, everything seemed to just be easier this way. No homework, detentions, or Harry Potter's. It was just Draco Malfoy and his parents.

This was the way Draco had liked it, this was exactly his comfort zone. The way his house was bigger than the others around him gave him some sort of comfort. There was some sort of joy about his window that attracted him to spend more time there than his bed, or any place else around his house. His window opened up to a balcony, his favorite part of his room. Outside, the air was slightly humid and heavy. He was sweating, but that didn't give him much of a reason to go back inside.

His gray eyes scanned his view; grass and tree's surrounded his house, secluding the manor from the others. His room was the highest in the manor—giving him a sense of direction around his manor, giving him a good view of the other manors, and who wanted to enter his. He pursed his lips as he watched the manor next over, it wasn't as big as his—but it was beautiful. The tree's seemed to have more life, the grass seemed to be greener, the windows seemed to be shinier, and the family that lived inside seemed to be…happier.

His family was rather lonely. Only three of them in the large home—whereas the other home seemed to have many other people living there, seemed to have more visitors than the Malfoy's. His parents spent their time alone for the most part. Lucius working on his investments, ways to make more money—ways to prove himself to the world on how powerful he was. However, his power was nothing exciting to Draco anymore. His mother Narcissa spent her time in her room, writing in journals and staying in bed. She was a rather distraught woman. Although—she tried fairly hard to hide a lot about her, and be _perfect_. Draco wasn't sure for who or what she tried for. But Narcissa tried.

Draco leaned against his balcony railing and stared at the sunset that always resided behind the other home. Jealousy and admiration ran through his veins. His heart pumping to the sound of the music that played loudly in the other home. With the distance between the houses, the music was a bit faint, but it was loud for the fact he heard it anyways.

Hermione Granger was in his sight again. And he focused clearly. She was a muggle, and yet held this power of a pure-blood wizard. This he admired, along with her appearance. Her fair peachy skin, her small pointed nose, her thick brown curls and the way her lips would slightly pout naturally. He wondered if it were healthy to watch someone from afar, for so long. But he pushed that back behind his mind and kept watching as she and her three friends danced around in her bedroom. Her windows were wide open, the room brightly colored by different colors that changed weekly. This week it was a calm light green. Draco couldn't help but want to apparate into her bedroom and dance with her.

"Draco?"

Draco turned instantly as Lucius entered his room. He was tall with long sleek white blonde hair, his face was define and always held a few of expressions. Now, it was disapproval. Draco took a breath as Lucius caught Draco by his balcony.

"What are you watching, my son?" Lucius asked.

"Nothing," Draco said.

Lucius pursed his lips and stared at the home that resided to their right, "Poor excuse for a house." He muttered, "Full of traitors and Mudbloods."

Draco shook his head and glared towards the Granger home, "Well, they all belong with each other—Mudbloods and traitors right father?"

"They don't deserve magic," Lucius spoke slowly. Draco's head nodded, agreeing slightly. Lucius began to make his way out of the balcony and out his son's room—motioning his son to follow.

Draco turned one last time at the home and sighed, a small '_sorry_' passed his lips, although he was sure no one heard the conversation. But it was the only thing that felt right to say.

- - -

- - -

- - -

"May I?" Ron smiled sweetly down at Hermione, his hand extending down towards her—his blue eyes shining. She nodded and took his hand, allowing him to bring her up and slowly pull her body closer to his. The warmth was beautiful, a lovely feeling. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his arms slip around her waist. The music slowed and the two began to move along to the beat. Their bodies swayed together perfectly.

The two were alone in her bedroom. His arms held tightly around her petite frame, his head resting just above hers. His scent was intoxicating as it wafted into her nostrils and resting slowly into her lungs. They moved in sync, everything else seemed to wash away. His lips were kissing the top of her head, the sound of his heartbeat in her ears as they danced in a circle. Ron's self confidence seemed to exude from his pores, creating a certain feel that she can only distinguish as Ron's. He was never this…smooth, be she seemed to have an effect on him. That, she loved about him. That she was important enough to have an effect on him. She could hear her name being spoken through his soft voice and she looked up at him, smiling.

He dipped his head, gradually—teasing her slightly. His lips were slowly dropping to her level and she could feel his breath against her skin. She waited patiently as he placed his lips against hers. It was familiar and comfortable. His hands began to slowly hold her gently as she moved her body closer. Ron's right hand rested by her waist and the other in her hair. The kiss began to deepen and she could feel him tense. She wanted to ease his tension, wanted him to be as comfortable with her as she was with him. Slowly her tongue exited out of her mouth and swiftly enter into his, their tongue now in contact and he held her tighter. Their lips were in perfect harmony.

The song had stopped, but they kept on. Kissing under the dim light.

He was the best friend. The boyfriend. Hers. It was all amazing to think about. It was perfect. She could feel happiness just dance inside, her heart beating in such a pace she could only call perfect. Only he could cause this perfect safe place. His arms were the place she could only feel _right_. Her eyes opened slightly and she could see her bed just feet away from them. She wanted to lead him there. Explore more of his body.

"Ron?"

Ron slowly pulled back, a dazed look in his eyes. His ears perked up as he word one word pass her lips; "_bed_." Eagerly he picked her up and twirled her around, slowly placing her on her bed. All summer long this was their favorite place. Their home.

She giggled slightly at his eagerness and watched as he slowly leveled down to her. His legs spread apart as she lay in between them. She wasn't sure how much of him she could handle. Kissing him on her bed made her lose control. His scent, touch and kiss was all too much. But she challenged herself every time—allowing herself to take in every bit of Ron. She raised her hand to his face and smiled at his soft warm skin. His eyes closed and his red hair framed his face as the ends fell forward. She pulled him closer to her, and kissed him fully, deeply and passionately. He was taken back, she knew, but she didn't stop. His hands slowly moved up her shirt and she could feel herself smirk against his lips. His hands were shaking but they managed to stop as he explored the way her skin felt underneath his fingertips.

His lips slowly moved down to her neck and she felt her breath quicken. She lifted her hands to his torso and she caressed his body. She pushed the shirt up and touched his abdomen, loving the way he slightly built body felt. It was addicting to be close to him like this. But she wanted something stronger. His hands slowly moved up and she could feel him take her in his hands—her breasts rested in his hands, moving as he kneaded them. This was new, and she could feel herself slowly moan. He stopped and pulled his head back to look her in the eyes. Her brown eyes reflected off his blue eyes.

"Ron?" His sisters voice came from behind the door, "It's time to go."

Hermione slowly dropped her hands down to her sides and sighed. "No…"

"Sorry, 'Mione, mom'll kill me," Ron's eyes were fully apologetic, and she knew she couldn't get mad at him. Although every bit in her wanted too.

"I'll see you soon, right?" She asked.

"Definitely," he smiled and showed off his perfectly lined teeth.

"Ron!"

"Shut it!" Ron yelled back, "I'll be out in a bit Ginny."

Without warning Ron kissed Hermione and slowly pulled his body up from hers. She followed his lips and he pulled back. She sighed but forced a happy smile, "Bye Ron."

"Bye Hermione."

And he was gone, leaving her to her thoughts. She slowly stood and straightened herself out. She stood outside her window and took a breath. Her brown eyes looked upward and stared up at the tree's. They were tall around her, taller than her house and blocked everything from view. She shut her window and began to make her way towards her bed.


	2. One: Final Hours

**disclaimer ; **i don't own much - i own very little, and that unfortunately means i do not own harry potter. the characters. or anything else related. i own the plot line though ! haha. happy reading.

* * *

.

SUMMER—END OF JULY.

.

**Chapter One.**_ -- Final hours_

Sleep, was a natural pause in life—this Hermione Granger knew. She wanted to feel the pause, let it take her away and maybe she would dream. Maybe she would be able to dream; about Ron, her friends, her future, and all things delightful to her. Anything would've been better than laying there mindlessly on her bed. Her body was tired. It ached some sort of attention. Attention Hermione tried night and night to seek too. It need rest. To slip under the white covers and rest her head on a fluffy pillow. There was nothing more she could want more than to sleep. To catch that pause.

She tried to slow down her thoughts, in able to pin point one and focus on it. But too much moved through her mind, raced with this impeccable speed. The things she's been through, the deaths she's been through, the dark magic she was exposed too. Everything was overwhelming. Even thinking about the things that made her happy—seemed to aggravate her. All thoughts kept her up at night, all the thoughts of what could've been and what is now. She tried to rid of these thoughts and rolled over in her bed a colorful assortment of curses flowing passed her lips as she found it impossible.

She was muggle-born, with the talent of a pure-blood witch. Her magic was always so detailed and on-point. She worked at age ten to go through all the books she could—review all the basic skills a witch/wizard needed to survive. Magic captivated her. She was never exposed to it until the age of ten when she realized strange events happening. All the events were magical; but at the time—unbelievable. However they all came in too much of a convenient time. Whenever she lost control of her mind, certain things would change; explode, increase, fly, or shine brightly. It was an amazing feeling once she stepped foot in Diagon Alley to know that there were book to help her _control_ her magic.

She hadn't given much thought to her beginnings. The first time she set foot in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was life changing. She cursed herself quietly for forgetting her first year in Hogwarts. However a lot had happened during her past seven years stepping foot in the castle. Six years for pure education. One year for a magical war.

Still those years gave her no reason to forget her first year. Where she met Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter for the first time. She shot her hand up to answer many questions, she spent most of her time in the library, and her spare time listening to Harry and Ron speak. They weren't exactly friends at first, as it was hard for them to cozy up to her. It changed immensely after a few life changing events ran their way more than once.

But all those life threatening years in Hogwarts—it was all over.

The war and mystery was gone. And she was able to go back. Read. Re-start her last year and finish her education. She didn't have to worry of her best friends well being or her own. She didn't have to fear that someone was plotting to kill someone innocent—or her. She didn't have to hear the words; "_you-know-who_," or "_The Dark Lord_." She would never have to think of Voldemort. Never fear his presence. Because he was gone. He was dead. And she was proud to say she played some part in creating this new peace where Voldemort's name didn't stammer out ones throat.

However may she would of liked to think of her past—it didn't come easy. And pushing faux happiness into her thoughts made it worse. Abrupt she sat up from her bed, the covers slowly slipping from her body. She needed to get up.

She knew that tonight, as well as passed nights, she was unable to sleep. She refused to dwell on why, grabbed a book and began to slip outside of her house. The moonlight was enchanting—and somehow seeing it shine was much more appealing than the pause and delight from sleeping.

*** * ***

Draco never stepped foot outside of his home. For there was no reason too. He couldn't see why Hermione did, every night at the same time. She would leave her house at three in the morning, slip through the gates that guarded her home—and she would walk. So freely. He refrained from rolling his eyes and found himself staring instead.

His gray eyes followed as she stopped right at the street. She stood in the middle—simply standing, with a book under her arms. Slowly she moved against and he inched towards the other end of his balcony to get a better view of her. She wore a plain white t-shirt, it was oversized and he could only imagine that it belonged to Ron. Somehow that thought caused his blood to boil. He shook his heads and the thoughts erased as she slowly began to walk again. He watched her curves through the thin fabric of her shirt—the moonlight highlighted her curves and gave him a certain feel to…touch her.

He could imagine the way her skin felt. Warm and soft flesh, underneath his lips—his hands tracing her curves. His breath hitched as she disappeared behind a tree. His view on her was gone and he caught his breath. His grip tightened against the railing as he realized how immature this all felt. Watching Granger, admiring her curves, instead of seeing into his own life—getting himself some sleep. However it wasn't that he had much better things to do; but attending to his needs were always his first priority. He gripped tighter and then pushed his body off the railing, sharply taking a breath and shutting the glass window doors and entering to his bedroom. Quickly he dropped on his bed and closed his eyes.

His room was dark—all but the moonlight showing some sort of light. It reached about three feet into his room before fading. He didn't open his eyes, he didn't dare it. There wasn't much to what the room looked like. There wasn't much in his room that excited him. He spent his time here for the past few years. In the times where the Dark Lord was in his highest level of power—Draco found himself in the room. Contemplating. Breathing. Imagining. This room was some sort of his safe haven. He wouldn't allow himself to deepen the emotions that grew inside of him though. Never would he give into the lonely, helpless feeling. There wasn't much feeling in his body and he wouldn't allow any sort of feeling enter his body in the first place. He wanted to be emotionless.

His father was emotionless. The constant follower of anything _dark_, of anything that would make him—**feared**. Lucius Malfoy was a death eater. He fed off of whatever would lead him to the highest dark magic that he could find. The Dark Lord—Voldemort—was just that. And for a while, it was exciting. Watching from afar Draco felt all this dark magic to be exciting. He wanted it, up until he feared it.

Dark magic was a family business. His father openly put Draco in danger, offering him to the Dark Lord. Risking the life he held. It was his moment to shine, his destiny to be the Dark Lord's helper—partner even. And within the height of his destiny, Draco cracked. He was not a murderer. Never would kill. Never would ever kill Dumbledore.

He was never capable of such. He held hatred, but for immature reasons. He knew he was spineless. It was a sort of disappointing feeling, unable to kill. It made him feel…human. A typical, afraid, emotion filled human.

Draco shifted in his bed and tightly shut his eyes, trying to erase the memory of Hogwarts Headmaster fall from a high tower. He wasn't screaming. He didn't plead for help. He didn't fight back. Dumbledore died with dignity. And that made Draco feel uneasy.

He tried to wash the feeling away. Pulling the pillow over his head and sighing, he knew he needed to rest. He blackened all the vivid memories, emotions and images—and soon, fell asleep.

* * *

ah thank you to those who put this story into their alert list (: -- also , i just wanted to spend a chapterr giving a bit of background story about the two. i hope you are intrigued. the story is rated M for a reason that is in detail in later chapters ; if anyone was wondering. i hope you're enjoying this fan fic.


	3. Two: Shaken

**disclaimer ; **i don't own much - i own very little, and that unfortunately means i do not own harry potter. the characters. or anything else related. i own the plot line though ! haha. happy reading.

* * *

.

SUMMER—END OF JULY.

.

**Chapter Two--**_Shaken_

It was unnatural for Malfoy's to _feel_. It was not in their nature to emotionally desire something. But Draco stood, and he felt emotion. From lining of his lips to the tips of his toes. He felt it all rushing through him, filling him up—drowning him, consuming him. It felt real but unfamiliar. It was as if it was too much to handle. However he took a breath and found himself to like the uncontrollable feeling. Because he knew it wasn't toxic. It didn't hurt others. It didn't hurt him. And no one had to know.

He was flying. His hand on the polished stick of the broom was held tightly, his platinum blonde hair blowing away from his face. His lean body was carried by the broom perfectly and he felt himself _laugh_ at the worry he had earlier; whether or not his broom would carry him—if he was too heavy or too light. It had been ages since he's pulled his broom out the closet. However today he pulled it out and dust it off, threw on a t-shirt and jeans, and began to fly. He felt a tug at the corners of his lips and as he twirled around in the air with his broom, he allowed the tug to turn upwards; a smile—a beautiful smile appeared.

He took a breath and tilted his broom lower. Grass, trees, and dirt roads reflected off his brilliant gray eyes. The lightness it was absorbing had turned it gray this morning. It was a freeing feeling to be able to fly again.

He soared just a foot above the grass. He swerved left and right, as if he were in a Quidditch game. He was alone, but in his mind—he felt victorious. The ground below him was starting to rise and he tilted his broom upwards, now going along the hill. He closed his eyes and let himself _feel_. No images flashed before his eyes—however he liked it that way. The feel of _nothing_ but flying made him feel invisible. And that's all he wanted, was to be _invisible_. Because being unseen, made him free.

A high pitched scream echoed in his ears and suddenly Draco felt himself open his eyes, as if in slow motion. His nerves jerked and he quickly he came to the realization he wasn't invisible. That he was seen. And he panicked.

He could hear a string of words speak softly into his right ear. A warm, soft voice. The words were familiar, but his mind was spinning to quickly for him to give it much thought.

"_Protego_!" The familiar light of a shield charm was cast into the open.

Suddenly Draco pulled sideways, getting closer to the ground. He was losing control of his broom and a helpless feeling washed over him. "_Wingardium Leviosa." _He held onto his broom as spells were cast around him. He expected some sort of pain to sting him; however the spells were soft and he found himself being levitated onto the ground.

"Draco?"

He hesitated to look up. The feeling of the ground beneath him, the way the grass tickled his arms and the back of his neck—it was calming. Amazing. His name was spoken again, a hand on his chest.

"Are you…dead?"

The voice was female, this much he knew. But he didn't want to know more. He was afraid opening his eyes might get him in trouble. He was afraid he wasn't where he was supposed to be—in his room, in the Malfoy Manor, with his parents. He took a breath and his eyes fluttered open. The sunlight took him a while to adjust and observe the female properly. In seconds his eyes cleared and he was staring up at a brunette, strands of all sorts of brown in her curly thick hair. Browns ambers and some very light honey browns. She held a heart shaped face and slightly pursed lips. They opened but she spoke no words. He didn't want her to speak, the silence was nice.

"Draco Malfoy." She was stern now. And he noticed a slight fire in her brown eyes. "Hello?"

And then he noticed it. Her. Hermione Granger. He closed his eyes and opened them; but she still knelt down beside him.

"Say something!" She was loud, but her voice didn't lose that soft tone.

"Merlin," he glared, "Can you get any louder?"

She made a '_hmph_' noise and shook her head. "I should've hauled you down the hill." He rolled his eyes.

"Granger," he sighed and sat up, brushing himself off, "Aren't you rather far from home?"

"Aren't_ you_?" There was far more sting in her voice, than he ever intended to be in his.

"Yes," he didn't have a smart remark, nothing sarcastic or witty. Instead all he had was; _yes_. She stared at him, slightly uncomfortable. Her brown eyes lowering to the hem of her floral dress. She nodded and began to move a bit away from him. He stared down at his broomstick, allowing his fingertips to touch the fine polished wood. He heard her move abruptly, her hand grabbing her wand that lay in between them. She gripped it tightly, the tip of it angled towards him.

"Paranoid, are we?" He smirked.

She blushed slightly, embarrassed as he noticed her become defensive. He watched intently, waiting for her next move. She pursed her lips and shook her head, opening her mouth slightly; "Right, well—I should…" she got up and pointed towards the white blanket set down feet away, at the highest level of the hill. A basket and a pile of books lay on it. She took a breath and finished her words, "I should leave."

"Right," disappointment leaked through the word, "Thanks for not killing me, Granger."

She smiled slightly at him and nodded shyly one more time before heading to her spot. He stood up as well, pulling up his broom with him. He felt the need to stay—watch her walk away, however he felt pathetic. There wasn't much said between them, and to invade her personal space would be…unethical. At least—in his mind. So without a second glance, he pulled the broom and placed it in between his legs, and without hesitation he resumed flying.

*******

Ronald Weasley felt himself become whole again, as he reached his point of destination. Apparation was never easy for him, the feeling of his body losing focus and being squeezed and twisted—he had never gotten quite used to the idea. However, given the circumstances he used his powers quickly. It had been a week since he's seen Hermione. A week since he's looked into her eyes, touched her, kissed her—_heard her_. He never felt so desperate to see her as he did now. With a deep breath he took a step and shoved his hands in his pockets, in hopes to ease his happiness.

Olsenberry Hill was before him and in seconds, he would meet Hermione. He would run his fingers through her hair and surprise her; be romantic. However he had no gift. He hoped his presence was romantic enough. Hopefully it would swoon her, and make her hands sweat—as she did for him. Maybe, she'd want to love him—just the way he loved her. Unfortunately, he was never one to guess what went on her head.

The breeze pulled in and his red hair blew into face, clouding his vision. He kept walking forward and brought his hand to his face, brushing back his hair from his blue eyes. Easily he spotted her, in a floral strapless dress, her brown hair cascading down her flawless shoulder blades. Slowly the corners of his mouth lifted and his heart jump.

Hermione was hunched over, her body covering something before her—something Ron was unable to see. The closer he got he noticed a pair of feet laying on the ground, following legs and a body. Her hand was over the person's chest, her body slowly getting closer and closer to the body. A broomstick rested on the ground, feet away from her. He wondered if it were Harry—however his legs were not as long. Ron licked his dry lips and leaned forward, trying to get a better look. Blonde hair covered the face that lay before Hermione—a white sleek blonde. A blonde that belong to Malfoy's. He grabbed his wand and clenched his jaw.

He watched Draco Malfoy sit up, speaking words Ron wasn't able to hear. Hermione reached for her wand, but blush slightly at something he said. He raised an eyebrow. Suddenly the two stood, Hermione flustered—smiling slightly. Draco grabbed his broomstick and he was off. The two didn't look back at another, didn't pause to watch the other leave.

Ron eased as Hermione made it back to her spot—her usual spot, on top of Olsenberry Hill. She picked up a book and sat crossed legged. He smiled and quickly ran to her. He knelt down on her white blanket and wrapped his arms around her. It was as if they never spoken in year, or as if he came back from war. But he didn't care how tightly he held onto her, or how it looked. He missed her, and he was going to hold her just the way he wanted.

"Ronald," she laughed as they tipped sideways, "I didn't expect you to be here."

"Did you miss me 'Mione?" He asked.

"More than anything."

He grinned, took her book from her hands and placed his lips on hers. The book dropped down, and the two slowly lay down on the ground. He kissed her with such intensity. With the intentions to erase whatever Malfoy said to make her smile.

*******

Draco circled a bit around the hill, speeding up & down, challenging himself to the fullest. He twirled and spun, dashed and dodged. The air was refreshing going into his lungs. He tilted his broom upwards and it came to a pause—then he tilted again and it flipped him over, now going the other direction. Back home. Although he would've loved to stay on that hill, far away from home, he knew there was a family waiting.

He began to gain height and speed and passed the top of the hill; passing Hermione. He couldn't help but peek. A red head lay on top of her and suddenly Draco lost control of his broom—his direction heading downward. Quickly he gripped the broomstick tighter and tilted upwards again. He shook his head and kept his eyes straight. He didn't need to glance down to watch Ron work his hands over Hermione. The very thought caused him to grip the neck of his broom tighter. As his knuckled turned white his mind was racing with unfamiliar emotions. He shook his head once more and sped faster away from Olsenberry Hill. He filled his mind with his past, his nightmares and his fears—and all that seemed to weigh less than thinking about Ron touching Hermione.

* * *

ahh there we go : ) lol. - please review !


	4. Three: Unworthy

**disclaimer ; **i don't own much - i own very little, and that unfortunately means i do not own harry potter. the characters. or anything else related. i own the plot line though ! haha. happy reading.

* * *

.

SUMMER—END OF JULY.

.

**Chapter Three--**_Unworthy_

Only one Malfoy had the courage to walk in and out of the house freely; to walk out and be amongst other witches, wizards and muggles. The others would stay at home and close to the door. Never had they thought of entering the world again. Never had they thought of _facing_ the disapproving looks from people on the street. They were never as brave as Lucius Malfoy. He worked most of his day away. Lucius stepped foot in the house rarely, as he spend his nights in his office—or at a friend's. He simply did not care about the looks, or the way people would whisper as he passed them. Because he and Narcissa knew—that it was Draco who had attempted in murder first. Lucius and Narcissa followed the Dark Lord—but _never_ agreed in killing the admirable wizards. No, they never even thought of the words; "_Avada Kedavra,"_ coming out of their mouths with pointed wands towards Dumbledore.

And that thought alone made Draco want to thrash around in his bed, punch things—kick things, destroy his bedroom. He wanted to throw a tantrum. However he was unsure on how mature that would make him.

It made him feel unwell. Sick—for him to ever think of killing anyone. To point his want at someone, threateningly with a fire in his eyes. It made him feel _weak_. That he had enough emotion to stop him from killing. That he had a conscious. It wore him down; because even with the war over he still felt a bit **dead**. He felt, pressure.

He sighed and folded his bed sheets, doing his bed. It had been a while since his room was organized and cleaned. He wouldn't allow house-elves touch his bed. He wouldn't allow his mother organize his book case. He wouldn't allow anyone _in_. Because this was the one place nothing _bad_ happened. No cruelty passed that door. Just parents—who left empty words for Draco to remember. Or the house-elves, who brought him food and drinks. It made him feel pathetic to the core.

Draco Malfoy hiding away in his room.

He could imagine Potter and Weasley having a kick over that. But he didn't feel bitter anymore. He didn't feel his fists ball or his thoughts recoil and change into thoughts of hurting them. Of retaliating. Because he was this—turtle. Hiding away in his safe shell. And there was nothing Potter or Weasley could say to make the situation sound worse; there was no way Draco could get any lower.

He sat on the edge of his bed and rolled his shoulders back, running his hand through his hair. It was late again and he couldn't sleep. He rearranged his whole room, folding his clothes and putting them away or on their hangers. He color coordinated his robes and put them in order. The floor was clean, the wooden tiles shining back up at him. His books were dusted and put safely, alphabetically in order, on his shelf that stretched across the wall beside his bed. It was as if he read them all, and they were put into use. He scoffed, knowing it had been a while since he picked up a book and actually _read_ it.

The light was on; blending in with the moonlight that made it barely passed his window. It was unfamiliar to have this much light around him. He was used to natural light or no light at all. But it didn't scare him. It gave him a sense of direction. He was so accustomed to the dark and dimly lit room—this light felt so unnatural to him.

But it was the unnatural feeling that made him feel as if he was changing; in a way that he liked, in a way that made him feel _different_—slightly happy even.

His lips were pursed into a line as he sat up from his bed and walked over to the balcony. Thick, black clouds prevented the stars from being seen—but he didn't mind. The fresh air still felt good as it entered his body, traveling to his lungs and out. He leaned over the railing and closed his eyes, pushing himself to the edge and as far as his body would stick out. His blond hair fell over his eyes as he leaned forward; the uneven layers of hair blocking his vision as he opened his eyes. However it didn't bother him. He wasn't looking for anything in particular. Although, he felt a swell in his chest to catch a glimpse of Hermione.

He wasn't sure what it was—how she somehow entered his mind every now and then. They've barely spoken and the most he's seen of her is when _he_ wasn't in sight. Hiding and watching was easier than talking face to face. It gave him some sort of power over the situation. He could enter his bedroom and go to sleep. He could stay outside and watch her window, waiting and hoping she would pass it or open it. He could watch her exit her room and into the street, as she was beginning to do now. As predictable as she was; it was always intriguing to watch her. She left her house about the same hour and came back about the same hour, every day. She would bring a book with her, and just walk for hours. She was so…free.

And he wanted to be free as well.

But he wasn't sure whether or not he deserved it. Prior to the last two years, he was innocent. Bullying kids, insulting their family, broadcasting the latest embarrassing news, showing off in school and teasing others. It was all so innocent. Never had he thought it would elevate—he never thought he would _hurt_ people, cause them to fear for their lives. He never thought he would lose his friends.

Granted, his friends were merely back-ups. Crabbe and Goyle, his body guards. He couldn't remember one honest conversation with them. He doesn't remember much on what they told him; or if they even shared anything with him at all. Pansy Parkinson, his last girlfriend. Even with her, he didn't have an honest conversation. There wasn't much about her he remembered. She wasn't memorable enough to even be considered his ex-girlfriend. However, he didn't have many of those and he liked to be able to name at least one. As the thoughts swirled of his friends—he came to realization that he never **had** friends.

"Pathetic," he muttered as he dangled his upper body over the railing.

He had an understanding of what the edge could do to him. But he didn't pull back. He kept his body steady and began to lean farther and farther. His loosened his tightened grip, his hands slowly slipping body his torso leaning against the railing. Gradually he pulled his hands out, allowing them to be before him. His body relied on the railing. It kept from his lower half of his body from slipping. This, somehow, disappointed him. His arms extended sideways, up at his sides as if they were wings.

All he had to do was jump. Fall over. Fly.

His foot began to graze against the floor and he felt it slip sharply. Quickly, instantly, he gripped the railing to create some support. With a breath he pulled himself together, standing straight with the perfect posture he was taught to stand with. He was confused on what to do next. His room was clean, his bed was made and the floor was spotless. There was sleep; however he was proud of his tidy bed. He didn't want to mess up the way the covers were neatly laid out—no creases or folds. It lay straight, flat. Sleep wasn't needed in his system. There was reading; however, the idea of him picking up a book in the summer made him cringe. He knew the books by heart—and they had no affect on him, seeing as most of them were informational. There was practicing magic; however, he knew he hadn't touched his wand ever since Harry Potter used it to take care of Voldermort. It would've felt like bad luck to touch a wand Harry _Potter_ used to kill the powerful dark wizard.

He needed a new wand. With a sigh he grabbed his broomstick that leaned against the wall beside his bed. The broomstick was untouched; irrelevant to the war or the dark things he had done. The broomstick was his escape. He pulled it gently between his legs, watching as the floor began to move away from him. Slowly he passed the balcony entrance and out of his manor. He didn't have a destination to fly to, no one to visit and no one to meet. He was alone. And the thought alone quickly stained his insides—saddened him, made him feel a bit numb.

Without much more thought, he began to fly lightly away from the Malfoy Manor. He looked up at the sky, and kept moving forward. He moved swiftly, avoiding the tops of trees or rooftops of the other houses. He wanted to speak. Say something. Maybe speak to someone. But he knew how utterly ridiculous it was; simply because there was no one that wanted to speak to him.

* * *

ahh just a little bit of Draco Malfoy backgroundd. a filler nonetheless; i like his character : ) - review if it made you happy ?


	5. Four: Shelter

**disclaimer ; **i don't own much - i own very little, and that unfortunately means i do not own harry potter. the characters. or anything else related. i own the plot line though ! haha. happy reading.

* * *

.

SUMMER—END OF JULY.

.

**Chapter Four--**_Shelter_

The dark clouds above her head had an eerie feeling. The way they thickened in seconds above her were beginning to alarm her. And yet, she didn't run back into her house. She didn't run into her mother's arms hoping to sleep in her parent's bed for the night. It was far too late for that, and she knew it would be useless.

With muggle parents, she wasn't as safe as she liked to believe she was. However she didn't put much thought into that. They loved her and she loved them, dearly—whether or not they were wizards. It was hard to imagine them anything but muggles. They were dentists and although they didn't make much money, it was enough to support the family of three perfectly. The Granger Manor worked itself out perfectly. A house handed down from generations, and Charles and Elizabeth Granger had been the generation to have the house. Hermione knew it wasn't as big as the manors scattered in Wiltshire however that didn't lessen her pride for the house.

Hermione breathed in the misty air. The scent was unbearable. The calm before the storm. She crossed her arms and kept walking forward, the path today was different than her usual path. It went farther out than she would usually go. Into the woods. And as she walked on through, she couldn't help but resent her decision to take that path. It was dark with a soundtrack of rustling leaves. Every crunch of a leaf or a stick—she cringed and looked back, as if there was someone there watching. Waiting.

She tightened her grip on her wand and uncrossed her arms, holding her wand in front of her and whispering; "_Lumos_." The crack in her voice scared her, she was nervous. She couldn't trust herself. She didn't want to listen to the voices that told her everything was fine and the war was far gone. But she couldn't listen to herself and trust her mind.

The rustling of the treetops above her seemed to get louder, quicker; as if someone was above her. She pointed her lightened wand above her, watching as the trees swayed. Her eyes narrowed, standing her grown. The light from her wand wasn't bright enough to tell what was above her. If it were just the gusting wind, an animal or _someone_. A monster.

There was a bang and absentmindedly she let out a non-verbal spell towards the direction of the sudden noise. Shots of gold came from her wand, grabbing hold of a falling object. Another bang went through the air and she pulled her wand away from the object and back up at the direction of the loud sound. She felt her hand shake at her sides as she tried to hold her wand with strength. The object fell to the floor with a thud and with a flick of her wand; the light came from the tip again. She wasn't sure whether to run or face it. With a deep breath, she began to walk closer. The rustle of leaves startled her once again, and a broom fell straight through. With knitted eyebrows she got closer to the first flying object.

It began to move, grunting. She held her wand firmly. Closer, with caution, she moved. The light outlined a body, rather long and slightly build. Familiar blonde hair and defined jaw line and chin made her defensive.

"Malfoy!" She kicked at his side with frustration before kneeling down towards him, "What are you doing at this hour?"

Another loud bang and she threw another non-verbal spell into the air.

"Merlin," Draco Malfoy's cough was mixed in with laughter, creating embarrassment to flood in her veins as he rubbed his side. "That's just thunder. Stop throwing curses in the air Granger."

Her cheeks burned but she wouldn't let it show. Instead, she passed it for anger. Her eyes fierce, his mouth slightly opened. "What are you doing out this late?"

"Well," he sat up and ran his fingers through his blonde hair, a slight smirk appearing, "There _is_ a broomstick behind you. It's a bit of a coincidence the broomstick and I fell at the same time period, don't you think?"

She closed her mouth and rolled her eyes, pulling the wand away from his face—the light fading out, the darkness around her getting stronger. It was embarrassing to seem so paranoid. However, Draco _was_ a death eater. She felt the gears in her head move—'_or is a death eater_' she thought. He's very presence was rather suspicious. The way his gray eyes flickered with off and on silver or blue flecks, or the way he talked back to Hermione; it was all something she had to watch out for. She felt herself sigh silently as she looked away from him. She blinked a few times to get his eyes away from his inward vision.

Thunder clapped above them, lightening flashing and the familiar sound of rain hitting leaves began to enter her eardrums.

"_Accio broom_," Draco said, his smooth silk-like voice was had been easier to notice when a spell passed his lips. He waited as the broom moved towards him and right into his left hand. He inspected it and she couldn't help but watch him make sure his broomstick was still intact. Lightning flashed and saw him clearly for a few short seconds. She watched as his blonde hair fell over his eyes, and how his lips were formed a fine line. Rain drops began to catch themselves a spot in his hair, changing the sleek white blond hair to a darker color. She tucked a thick curl behind her ear.

"I keep finding you every time you're on that thing," Hermione mumbled as she pointed her nose towards his broomstick. He laughed a bit before drawing his wand and pulling it above his wand. With a few hushed words and there was a shield around them. The rain was visible before them, sliding down the sheer silver shield. The shield provided a bit of a light around them, a dim silver light. However it didn't reach much, making it hard to outline much of his features or the trees surrounding.

"What was that?" She asked him, "That charm?"

"An oversized Protego," he shrugged, "well some sort."

"It's rather…different than a protego," she observed, "That's all you did, _protego_?"

He nodded and she sniffed. He smirked, "Hermione Granger doesn't know how to cast a large shield charm? That's…odd."

She was taken back, "I just never tried, is all."

"Well Granger, we're safe, dry and," he glanced down at his watch, "Stuck here until the rain stops. Leave the spell learning for September, will you?"

He stood up and sat against a tree, his knees up and his arms resting on them. She remained unmoved, her fingertips playing with the ends of her pale pink night slip. Her mind was racing and being so close to Draco made her nervous. It made her squirm. His presence was unfamiliar. She wasn't used to him this close. She didn't hear his voice for the next few minutes—no insults, sarcastic remarks, or complaints. To her dismay, he was silent. Their thoughts soaking in their heads within each minute they stayed quiet. As she breathed and tried to make sense of the situation—she realized she couldn't. There wasn't much to think about. It was simple; Draco and she were alone.

However, she couldn't help but dwell on it. She wasn't used to the silence. It was eerie. In the dark, thunder booming and in the woods. She felt watched again. Paranoid. Her nerves jumping her bones. She couldn't help but freeze as lightening dashed against the top of the shield charm. The lightening stopped at the top, unable to make it through the charm. She felt her body shake quickly, before she could realize she was untouched.

"Someone's scared of the rainstorm," Draco said in a bored tone.

"It's dark," she said quietly, "I'm not used to it."

She turned towards his direction with a weak frown. However it faded as she realized she could barely make out his features under the lack of light. The lightning flashed and she caught a glimpse of him fully. His lips weren't in a line, rather in their natural state—slightly pursed and still. His wand was being balanced on his fingertip, his hand moving swiftly to maintain the wands position. He was so calm; natural, _human_. He whispered inaudible words and she watched as a ball of a bright light circled around him.

"It won't move unless I move," he stated, "and I'm not moving towards you."

She slowly crawled towards him, the ground slightly hurting her knees. She took a breath and leaned against the tree he leaned against, her knees up as his was. The ball of light circled around them; the tree, Draco and Hermione.

"Scared of the dark?" He asked, with a hint of concern.

She nodded. Thanking him in her head was the best she could do—hoping he heard the soft words in her mind, knowing full well she wouldn't say them out loud. She pulled her hand forward, playing with the ball. It swirled around her playing with her. It made a zipping noise as it sped around her and Draco. She felt a tug at the corners of her mouth, with a breath her lips attended to the tug, a smile gradually forming. Her eyes gazed at the medium sized ball as Draco pulled his wand up, controlling where it moved. It zoomed forward, hitting against the shield and bouncing right back towards them. She straightened herself against the tree and felt herself force the smile to drop. Biting her lip before it could curve.

"C'mon now, pick up your wand Granger," he nudged her, "Can't stay here all night in complete silence."

"Expect me to sit here and play with you instead?" Hermione let out a bit of a sarcastic laugh.

"Well," he controlled the ball to stop at the highest point of the shield, "I provided you with shelter and light—I should have someone to play with."

"You sound like a child."

"You sound ungrateful."

"I can hardly call a charm shield shelter," she rolled her eyes, a playful hint swirling in her irises without her notice.

"You obviously weren't going to cast it" He pulled the ball away from the tip and sent it swirling around the area, "I'm being nice Granger. Be good and grant me the same back."

She didn't want to continue talking to him. His tone; light and silk-like, was becoming unbearable. It was unfamiliar and she couldn't grasp herself and wrap her head around the idea of Draco being _nice_. It didn't feel natural. As if she was betraying something—someone. Speaking to him—felt like speaking with the devil; and the fact that he wasn't completely unpleasant to speak too had made it seemed worse. Death eater. She repeated the words in her mind as the two smacked at the ball back and forth.

She turned to look at him, and they caught on, a connection made. Draco Malfoy smiled.

* * *

review for another malfoy smile ?


	6. Five: Fold and Fade

**disclaimer ; **i don't own much - i own very little, and that unfortunately means i do not own harry potter. the characters. or anything else related. i own the plot line though ! haha. happy reading.

* * *

.

SUMMER—END OF JULY.

.

**Chapter Five--**_Fold and Fade  
_

Draco woke up to the slow and steady sound of trees swaying. A barely audible breath was softly steady beside him. It sounded like a whisper in his ears. He blinked and noticed the sun was shining before him indicating the rain had stopped. He took a slow and steady breath, a long intake and a short exhale. Her scent filled his lungs briefly and she moved closer to him, her tongue swiping across her lips slowly and retreating back into her mouth. He had never been as observant as he was then. His eyes scanning her facial features, her lips—a pink color, her eyes—closed but her brown curly eyelashes resting on her skin, her cheeks—a slightly rosy color, and her hair—thick ringlets, brown and suited her skin color perfectly.

It was strange. Observing her from afar and closely were two different things.

A wet feeling dabbed at his shoulder, rolling his eyes he nudged her, "Granger, you're drooling on me."

"Wha…"

The sun glowed against his skin, the pale color blending with the orange and yellow hues of the sun. He brushed his hair away from his eyes and pulled his hands up to her shoulders. Her skin, soft as petals of a flower. He set her up away from him and against the tree. He pulled his hands away and shoved them in the pockets of his pants. He counted the seconds until she woke up fully.

It took her sixteen.

"Draco?" Her eyes opened, brown eyes staring out and scanning the area. She was looking for him. The thought washed over him. Was it that she missed him in the hours they were idle? He didn't push the questions further. He cleared his throat and she turned to her left, a breath of air escaping her nostrils. He nodded at her as she noticed his presence. "You didn't leave."

"I fell asleep," he scratched the back of his head, his tone slightly bitter.

"Oh." She ran her hand through her thick mass of curls and knitted her eyebrows. She opened her mouth to speak, staring at him briefly. She turned away from him and shook her head, closing her mouth and feeling the floor for her wand. To him, she looked rather frustrated. With that, he left his words behind his throat, refusing to frustrate her further more. Though, he did wish she spoke—making it easier for him to speak _back_.

The silence was awkward, his eyes away from hers. He listened as she moved and with a crack and one last glance at Draco—Hermione apparated, separating herself away from him.

Draco wished for more to say to her. The night before, his body didn't hold the same stiffness. Words rolled off his tongue easily. However, the situation made it manageable. To know they were together by default—gave it a comfortable environment. His body was eased. His vocal chords were loose. And as the night ended, his life restarted. Stiff. Graceless. Strange. And for another day, alone.

*******

Her head, for the fifth time, was spinning. Her failed attempts to apparate began to frustrate her, her teeth gritted as she sat on her bed. With a handful of her hair, she tugged and let out a groan. Slowly she elevated down onto her bed, feeling the soft covers under her body. All she wanted to do was leave her house without a problem. All she wanted to do was slip through the air and appear in front of the Burrow. She just wanted to feel the softness of Ron's hair through her fingers and enter the hospitality of the Weasley family. However, Hermione couldn't even do that right.

There was many things to inform Ron of. That she had spent a night with Draco Malfoy. That her parents would like for him to join them for dinner. That her parents were arguing earlier this morning. That Harry needed some help fixing up Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. That she fell asleep on Draco Malfoy. That Draco Malfoy protected her from the frightful weather Wiltshire went through.

However she was unsure which one to start off with. And that, made the purpose of visiting him harder to understand.

Draco Malfoy. She frowned at the name. The frown forced, the muscles pushing down her lips. She took a breath and tried to explore her mind for reasons Draco Malfoy was bothering her. There were barely any words spoken. Not much emotion in the air they breathed last night. They were strangers, at the wrong place at the wrong time. Strangers who exited their homes late at night, at the same time. Strangers that happened to sleep gently underneath a protecting shield charm that kept them warm, dry and safe. Strangers that lived beside each other. With that thought in mind; they weren't strangers at all. Having spent their years in Hogwarts together—hating each other, nonetheless. They were most certainly not strangers. However friends would be a large word for the two.

She rubbed her hands on her shorts and inhaled. The air was crisp and entered her body roughly. She ignored it and kept breathing slowly—the air smoothing its way into her lungs easily. She thought of apparation. It was easy as three breaths of fresh, smooth air. Pushing her back off the bed, she began to hear a sharp breaking of glass.

_"I'm not cleaning that up Charles!" _

Her mother's voice was like acid. Her father's voice returned the favor—and that was all it took to send Hermione's feet on the grass that surrounded the Weasley home. She took a breath of the fresh smell of grass and began her way to the doorstep. The gnomes greeted her as they stood beside her. She smiled weakly and knocked on the door. Quickly, she could hear the many footsteps rushing to open the wooden door. Foul words were spoken playfully as a figure bumped into the door. She shook her head, stepping back before the door swung forward. Red heads came into view and she smiled warmly at them.

"Hermione!"

The youngest Weasley hugged her, long red hair getting caught in her mouth. She brushed it away quickly as Ginny pulled away. Her blue eyes were dancing with happiness. A way in which Hermione envied. She pushed the thought away and hugged one of the elder Wesley's.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Hermione," George smiled a gentle friendly smile, his hair now long enough to cover his ears—unable to show the ever lasting effect of a battle wound on one of his ears.

"Ron's upstairs," Ginny stated, "Showering."

"Give him some time, love," George grinned as he closed the door behind the two, "It's been days since he's showered."

"Time?" Ginny snorted, "Give him a year."

She blushed at her boyfriend's ways and entered the kitchen. "Oh Hermione, dear!" A slightly shrill voice came from behind her. Hermione turned, her brown eyes scanning Molly Weasley. She was the epitome of a hardworking, dedicated mother. She kept her head high throughout all the antics her children have done. She nurtured seven kids successfully—and gave each of the family, as well as herself, the strength to deal with one of her sons, Fred, death. That Hermione found admirable. With George around, she found it hard to understand Fred was gone—having looking just like him, same voice and smile; however Weasley family now held no twins. Quickly Hermione shoved the thoughts away as Molly wrapped her arms around her.

"Have you been eating right?" Molly's hands pushed Hermione gently away to examine her body shape, "Oh—dear, please stay for dinner?"

"Yes please," Ginny smiled ear to ear, "I need some female companion here."

"Well I'm here," Molly pushed her attention to her only daughter, a frown on her face.

"Someone closer to my age, would be nice," Ginny mumbled.

"I've just started preparing the dinner," Molly said, ignoring the slight jab she felt from Ginny's words, "There are some cauldron cakes in the cupboard if you need a little snack."

"No thank you," Hermione shook her head. She held no appetite after apparating.

"Well," Molly smiled before returning back to the kitchen, "Make yourself at home—No, don't you go now Ginny—I would appreciate it if you help me in the kitchen."

Hermione gave an apologetic but encouraging nod before she made her way up the stairs. The house was rather cozy. Warm and welcoming. Although a bit messy and unorganized; she couldn't imagine the Weasley house any other way. She could hear George behind her, his footsteps barely audible as he stepped precisely when she stepped. She frowned and turned to him.

"I know you're behind me George."

"The element of surprise is ruined now, isn't it?" He had a goofy grin.

"Is there something you want?" Hermione continued up the stairs with her hand gracefully sliding their way up the wooden banister. The stairs creaked as they walked up the stairs in unison.

"Well, I do have some new products I've been itching to try out on one of my loyal customers," he stroked his chin as she turned to face him, stopping again.

"I don't buy your _toys_ George," she said promptly, "Last time I played with one of them, I've gotten a black eye."

"Well this one doesn't harm you at all," he said proudly, his blue eyes shining, "This one, in fact—was one of the last idea's Fred and I brainstormed before…"

She nodded in between his words, immediately feeling guilt as he pulled the words back behind his throat. She was pensive now, figuring it was hardest on him. To wake up each day—present himself to the family and look himself in the mirror. She wondered if George ever looked himself in the mirror, imagining Fred staring back at him. She wondered what he would _say_ to his brother; his twin. And with that she felt guilt and worry pass over her. She cleared her dry throat before speaking again, banishing the thoughts of Fred from her mind. However, with George standing just below her, it had come off as difficult. "Sure, I'll test it out."

The two walked up as George explained the use of his newest toy. A pair of wings—pulled on as if it were a vest.

"It's completely hazard free," George said, "At least—it's meant to be anyways."

A hand grabbed Hermione's forearm. Startled she pulled back and pushed her body backwards, George holding her up.

"You are not going to use Hermione as a guinea pig."

"Ron," she smiled, pulling herself together before hugging him.

"Go use Harry or something."

"Harry's here?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Ron nodded to the direction of Ginny's room, "He's awfully bored without Ginny—where is she anyways? Oh, never mind that; When did you get here Hermione?"

"A few minutes ago," Hermione answered. He smiled and slipped his hand into hers. They were still damp from his shower, his red hair dripping with water. With his height above hers, the water began to drip over the top of her head. The two made their way up the stairs and stopped at the fifth floor. His smile was shining as they entered his room. Closing the door behind them, Ron pulled her body before she could move away. His back leaned against the wall as his lips collided with hers. She reluctantly moved along with his and pulled her arms over his neck. Slowly he pulled back with a rather goofy smile.

"I missed you 'Mione," he whispered.

He brought his lips down to hers again—and the object of conversation hadn't seemed to cross Ronald's mind. She wouldn't force it, deciding it was better where she stood now. Silent, with the devil far from her mind. With that she began to kiss Ron passionately, all the thoughts of Draco Malfoy, her parents and all the things she was willing to talk about before had vanished.

* * *

review for another malfoy smile ?

sorry this one was a bit bland--a little bit of a filler, just to show a touch of the aftermath Hermione had felt about Draco. I'm trying to mix it up with other problems in her life; trying hard not to make Draco Malfoy as big of a thing in her life--at least, just for now. I hope you all liked this one. :)


End file.
